


mr. blue sky

by bringmeatangerine



Category: DuckTales (Cartoon 2017)
Genre: he's burnt out bc aren't we all, mainly just obscenely self-indulgent, takes place probably earlyish s1, there is a reference to addiction (gladstone cameo) but it isn't focused/elaborated on, there is also a little donald/storkules but it isn't substantial enough to warrant a tag imo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-27
Updated: 2019-11-27
Packaged: 2021-02-18 17:02:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 963
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21581008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bringmeatangerine/pseuds/bringmeatangerine
Summary: donaldo is a sad duck, with sad dreams.
Comments: 3
Kudos: 43





	mr. blue sky

A dream, the most frequently recurring: Della is back. She’s sorry about going to the moon, sorry about forcing him into parenthood. He believes this and he’ll never say otherwise, that the boys had been a blessing, that they had saved him, in a way. From the crush of grief, of guilt. But his sister has returned, and she has moved into the houseboat, and they are making up for all their lost time.

A dream: Della is gone. She is missing, presumed dead. There are no boys. 

A dream: He’s 23ish, and they visit Ithaquack like they do every year, but this time, he never leaves. His uncle and his sister jet off to their next adventure, restless, insatiable, but he is content to be lifted like a barbell and thrown and danced with. Zeus is quieter, kinder, smiling when he catches Donald by the eyes instead of threatening him with lightning storms. The water looks like molten gold in the sun every day. He eats whatever he wants whenever he wants it, the fruit always cold, the fish always fork-tender and perfect. Storkules, huge, warm, doesn’t need the bed, doesn’t even need to sleep, lies down beside him every night anyway.

A dream: Scrooge puts an arm over his shoulder. He isn’t wearing his spectacles. He seems so much younger without them, but Donald doesn’t want to spend time figuring out how or why, can’t look at him directly for more than a second or two. He says, _I’m sorry laddie._

A dream: He’s at a job interview. His resume and references need stapling. He finds the stapler and he uses it, a silver fastener holding three pages together with one simple flex of his hand. The stapler does not attach itself to him. He doesn’t know if he got the job and he doesn’t need to know, because this is enough for him, for this one thing in his life to not end up a total trainwreck. 

A dream: He is younger. Gladstone calls. He sounds not great. _Where are you?_ Donald sits up and tries to wipe the sleep from his eyes. _Oh, I don’t know, D-Money, there’s a payphone._ That’s not helpful, but he rolls out of bed anyway. He knows it’s been a while since they’ve seen each other, not actually that long since Gladstone’s been released from the latest treatment center. To be lucky, to have people who come for you when you call, is not to be without demons, he understands, a little smarter now than he was as a teenager, green with envy. It’s dark outside. Because it’s 2am, he reads in tiny digital type once he starts his car.

A dream: Della is back, because she had never left. The eggs are about to hatch, sunshine yellow baby beaks cracking through their shells. The single-minded determination is hereditary. She calls them Jet, Turbo, and Rebel, dresses them in red blue green, proud mother to a set of blinking Christmas lights. Nobody hurts.

A dream: Della is back, and she is screaming at him. They are screaming at each other.It hurts, that they are together again, only to be unhappy like this. _Why did you leave? Why should I have stayed? You left me alone with three kids! What do you want me to say? Tell me you’re sorry!_ But she doesn’t say anything more. She leaves for the moon again.

A dream: The boys exist. Trash his houseboat, burn through food faster than he can replace it, exhaust him. One day they disappear. They go quietly, and with little fanfare, so unlike their mother. He screams through Duckburg, twice in his car and once on foot, but they are nowhere to be found. _Huey!Dewey!Louie! Boys? Boys!_ He doesn’t understand. He knows he can never be _her_ , but he’s always tried for them—tried hard to keep them safe from his bad luck, tried hard to not be such a disaster. He’s tried hard his entire life, just to come up with nothing. Like always. Like now.

A dream: He isn’t fired this time, no; he quits. There is no catastrophic event he must atone for with his unemployment, there is no explosive argument, no bloodthirst or glowing red with rage. He doesn’t wait for his supervisor’s response before unpinning his pictures of the boys from the wall, cleaning his cubicle, getting into his car, because he doesn’t need to. He drives down to the docks and boards his houseboat. He scoops his boys up in his arms. They are smiling at him and at each other.

Donald wakes up: he is 36, dark circles under his eyes looking worse, making the fact of his age more obvious every day. He stares up at the ceiling while his alarm clock sounds off, seriously considers just taking the job with Uncle Scrooge, seriously considers just taking a page from Gladstone’s book and not working at all. It’s not like he hasn’t already moved back into the mansion. But even if Scrooge weren’t obscenely wealthy, he knows himself well enough, that he is too proud to let anyone simply hand him anything. 

Finally he gets out of bed and silences the alarm. He buttons his shirt, and puts on his tie, and grabs a piece of toast left on the counter by Ms. Beakley. The boys aren’t home, and neither is Scrooge, off on one of their latest romps. He hopes they’re having a good time, hopes they’re having a _safe_ time. He considers calling Scrooge for a moment, but decides against it, lest he force some tragedy to befall them with his presence. 

He twists the key in the ignition and drives away from McDuck Manor, already running late for his interview.

**Author's Note:**

> first-timer here, kinda sick of looking at this. title is like the song by ELO. hope you found it halfway decent, thanks for reading/everything else this site allows you to do to someone else's writing.


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